DC’s Blue Beetle Is Such a Nice Boy

When Jaime Reyes (Xolo Maridueña) encounters a mysterious, seemingly mechanical blue scarab, it attaches itself to him, digging into his spine, extruding large bug-like legs, and sometimes enveloping him in some kind of alien-borne nanotech suit against his will. Later, he’s told that the only way to remove the bio-mechanical weapon system is to kill him. If Blue Beetle were a Marvel movie, we’d be into month three of hearing about how really, this isn’t really just a superhero picture but a Cronenbergian exercise in body-horror.
As it happens, Blue Beetle is not especially different from a Marvel movie, nor is it wildly divergent from Shazam!, its sibling in smaller-scale DC Comics adaptations with “heart,” rather than a swirling vortex of climactic garbage around which CG action figures whale on each other. (It is, in other words, nowhere near Cronenberg, beyond the transformation sequence’s utility in planting seeds of interest in certain young viewers.) In form, Jaime resembles the MCU version of Spider-Man: Youthful angst, reluctance to completely upend his life, all encased in tech he doesn’t fully understand–a lower-middle-class version of Iron Man. His big, boisterous family somewhat recalls the gaggle of foster sibs surrounding Billy Batson in Shazam! He can’t even claim firsties on a superhero scarab, which I believe figured into the Moon Knight TV series in some way. (I did not finish said series.)
What makes Blue Beetle stand out – appropriately enough for a superhero industrial complex with such massive marketing arms – is its demographic positioning. I’m not only referring to the fact that the Reyes family is Mexican American, though this does lend the movie some much-needed, much-appreciated texture. Jaime also perches at an unusual superhero age: He’s a recent college graduate in his early twenties, returning home to his fictional Texas hometown of Palmera City, entering into a woeful job market, thoroughly uncertain about what to do with his life (grad school is mentioned and dismissed as an impossible expense) or how best to help his struggling family. In other words, Maridueña gets to play the age that most Spider-Man actors already are when they sign on to play a 17-year-old, a quarterlife-crisis crossroads that most movie superheroes have left in the rearview. Once in a while, a pre-powers character in one of these movies will be working a vaguely wacky dead-end job; rarely do you see them putting their back into scraping gum off of a rich lady’s patio furniture.